


Not Quite The Golddigger

by Suzie_Shooter



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bickering, Bisexuality, Christmas, F/M, Family Issues, M/M, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 18:31:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9561551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/pseuds/Suzie_Shooter
Summary: Written for the prompt: Porthos has always had a thing for rich widows but when he meets the family of his older but very attractive girlfriend he accidentally falls head over heels in love with her eldest son Athos.





	

Hollybank House. Not quite a stately home, but certainly more than a mere manor. It had a whole wing just for the staff, for one thing. 

Standing in the window of the breakfast room, Porthos mused on these and similar things. That was another point. Who had a separate room just for breakfast?

Porthos smiled into his coffee. He’d been angling for an invitation to come here for weeks and finally here he was, and for Christmas too.

Outside, the morning sun had cleared the trees to the east and was slanting across the grounds, making the lawns sparkle with melting frost. It was a dazzling vista, matched by the elegant opulence of the house itself, a description that could equally be said to apply to its owner.

Angelique de la Fere, countess and society hostess; old money, with a taste for understated decadence. Sixty-something, looked fifty-something, immaculate in dress and manner, and for the last four months, Porthos’ lover.

He’d always had a taste for the older lady – or gentleman, for that matter, Angelique had poached him in the first place from a silver fox called Stefan – and if all his previous partners had been of a certain level of wealth, well, that was surely only coincidence.

Okay, maybe if he was being strictly honest with himself, not entirely coincidence. He enjoyed his comforts, and found no shame in accepting whatever gifts his paramours saw fit to bestow upon him. For his part he had a genuine affection for all of them, and rather enjoyed the way they all considered him a trophy to be displayed.

Behind him the door opened to admit the lady in question and Porthos greeted her with a kiss, suppressing a look of mild surprise. Angelique was not one of nature’s early risers, and left to her own devices rarely appeared before ten.

“Angel. You’re looking radiant this morning.” Porthos pulled out a chair for her and sat down next to her, while the maid that had followed her in served Angelique a cup of tea and left the room again.

“Flatterer.” Angelique gave a throaty laugh, pleased and amused. 

“I mean it.” He did. She always looked beautiful, something about the teasing look in her eyes. It suggested that she knew something you didn’t, but that if you were very good she might let you in on the secret. 

“You’re up early?” Porthos ventured, wondering if she had something planned for the day. He’d be quite happy to relax and revel in the luxury of the place, but it was Christmas Eve and entirely possible she’d have had some kind of party lined up to go to. In a mutually beneficial relationship such as theirs, he was expected to be at her disposal.

“The boys’ll be here soon.” Angelique stirred her tea, rather redundantly as there was no sugar in it, but it gave her something to concentrate on that wasn’t Porthos’ suddenly searching look.

“Boys?”

“My sons.” Angelique looked up then, and beamed at him unrepentantly. “They always come home for Christmas. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Er – no, no of course not,” said Porthos, being entirely unable to say anything else now that he was here. He had a mental image of having to deal with sulky little boys resentful of his presence, and then recalculated. Angelique’s husband had been dead for a good many years. “Er – how old are they?”

“Let’s see, Thomas is twenty eight...” 

A couple of years younger than him then, at least he wasn’t going to have the embarrassment of being younger than -

“...so Olivier must be thirty five now.” 

_Fuck._

Angelique made a playful face of distress. “Gosh, how old that makes me feel.”

Porthos took her hand and murmured something gallant and reassuring, wishing he’d thought to establish whether they would be spending Christmas alone together. Still, too late now. Was it too much to hope that the sons wouldn’t mind him being there?

“You’re not cross with me are you?” Angelique asked contritely, buttering a slice of toast. “I know I should have warned you, but I was afraid you wouldn’t want to come.”

Porthos shook his head. “Of course not. I’m just happy to be wherever you are.”

Angelique looked relieved, and patted his hand. “I’m sure you’ll all get on famously.”

At that moment her phone chirped in her pocket, and after studying the screen for a moment Angelique frowned. 

"Oh drat the boy."

"Bad news?" Porthos murmured, uncharitably hoping at least one of them had cried off.

"Thomas. He's bringing someone with him. Why can't he ever give me notice? I'd better let the staff know to make up another room.” She got to her feet, brushing toast crumbs from her lap.

“Won’t they share though?” Porthos asked. He’d been given a separate room himself, although had assumed that was more down to Angelique’s preference to sleep alone.

Angelique gave him a pitying look. “Every woman appreciates a space to herself Porthos. Especially when faced with a house full of strangers. I don’t care if she actually sleeps in it.” She sighed. “For all I know Olivier will bring someone as well, I’d better get them to make up two."

"Wouldn't he tell you?"

"Boy's worse than Thomas when it comes to communicating."

After she’d left the room Porthos sat there for a while, absent-mindedly eating the toast she’d abandoned. He wondered if his presence would come as an awkward surprise, and suspected it would given that Angelique didn’t seem to be in particularly close communication with them. Still, nothing he could do about it now. He had every right to be here. He’d just have to grin and bear it.

\--

About twenty minutes later the maid had returned to clear away the breakfast things, but Angelique hadn’t reappeared. A distant crunching of gravel drew Porthos back to the window in time to see a dark red Jaguar convertible pull up outside. Porthos pursed his lips and gave it a nod of approval. 

A man got out of the driver’s seat, shading his eyes from the winter sunlight as he pulled a bag out of the boot. As he appeared to be unaccompanied, Porthos assumed this was Olivier. He scrutinised him from behind the safety of the curtain. He looked pleasant enough, Porthos thought. Attractive, certainly. A little pre-occupied, although maybe that was just the way he was frowning into the sun.

The new arrival disappeared from Porthos’ line of sight, and his assumption that this was one of the sons seemed to be borne out when he didn’t ring the bell but let himself straight in the front door.

“Hello? Anyone in?” 

Porthos heard the man call out in the hallway, and after a second realised with a lurch that as the only person in the vicinity he should probably go out and greet him. If only because it would look weird if the guy walked in on him, and he hadn’t.

He took a deep breath and pulled open the door, clearing his throat a little self-consciously. “Um, hello?”

The man turned round with a slight start of surprise but recovered himself quickly, looking Porthos up and down with an assessing eye. His mouth hitched up at the corner in a wry smile.

"You must be Porthos."

Porthos blinked. He’d been expecting to have to introduce himself, and he wasn’t sure if this was better or worse. "Yes. I, er – I didn't think Angel would have mentioned me."

"Oh, don't worry, she hasn't. It's just London is a surprisingly small town in some respects, and my mother is not a subtle woman. Word gets back, you know?"

Porthos bristled a little at the man’s arch tone, but forced himself to stay polite for Angelique’s sake. "I guess you must be Olivier." Wanting to show that two could play at being smug know-it-alls.

“Yes.” He made a face. “Although I prefer Athos.”

“What’s wrong with Olivier?”

“It’s a stupid name and I hate it.”

“Whereas Athos is an entirely unremarkable choice?” Porthos grinned. It dawned on him that Athos had just handed him a weapon to use against him if he so chose. If Athos made himself objectionable, Porthos could spend all Christmas calling him Olivier.

“It’s my middle name, as it happens. Thomas’ too.” Athos dumped his bag carelessly on a polished sideboard and took off his jacket. 

“But you got first dibs?”

“As the elder son, yes. Not that there’s much wrong with being called Thomas in the first place.”

They’d been vaguely aware of another car drawing up outside while they were talking, and suddenly a woman’s piercing voice drifted excitably in through the door Athos had left standing open.

"Tommy! You didn't tell me you lived in a castle!" 

Athos grimaced. "Scratch that."

A couple walked in the front door, the man a slightly blonder, thinner-faced version of Athos and the woman staring around her in abject wonder. She had the look of a sixties glamour model, all wide eyes accentuated by false lashes, astrakhan coat, over the knee suede boots complete with ridiculous heels, and a gap-toothed smile.

"Athos." Thomas - or so Porthos presumed - gave his brother a nod of welcome, and the two men briefly shook hands. Obviously not a huggy family, Porthos reflected.

“This is my brother,” Thomas muttered, and his presumably-girlfriend turned to Athos with an unselfconscious smile. 

“My name’s Tilly.”

“But of course it is.” Athos actually kissed the hand she offered him, making her giggle and Thomas frowned irritably and pulled her away.

“Come on, let’s go and unpack.”

“But who’s this?” Tilly resisted the pressure of his hand, looking over Athos’ shoulder at Porthos who hadn’t yet been introduced.

“This is Porthos,” Athos told her. “Mother’s latest,” he added for Thomas’ benefit, who looked startled. 

“Good god really? I assumed he was staff.” Thomas gave Porthos a proper look for the first time and didn’t appear to think much of what he saw. “Huh.”

Without so much as a word of greeting or apology, Thomas resumed his progress up the stairs. Tilly gave Porthos a look of confused embarrassment but hurriedly followed him. As they turned the angle of the stairs she looked back down, not at Porthos this time but at Athos, who winked at her.

When they’d gone there was a second of slightly awkward silence. 

“I suppose I should apologise for him,” Athos said finally, sounding more irritated than actually apologetic. 

“For assuming I was the footman, or for being a cunt?” Porthos blurted before he could stop himself. To his relief, Athos looked like he was trying to suppress a smile.

“Well, it sounds as if you’ll be able to keep your end up,” was all he said.

“There you are!” Angelique bustled out of a door further down the hallway and enveloped Athos in a perfumed embrace that he struggled out of indignantly. Porthos had a sudden mental image of him as a little boy doing exactly the same thing, and bit back a laugh.

“Did I hear Thomas as well?” Angelique asked, looking round inquisitively as if he might be hiding behind the hatstand.

“Yes. And he’s brought a Tilly,” Athos told her. “They’ve gone up already.”

“Oh dear, why didn’t he come and find me, I’ve given her the east bedroom,” Angelique said exasperatedly. “I’d better go after them. I see you two have met, I’m sorry I wasn’t here to introduce you.”

“We managed,” said Athos dryly. 

As Angelique hurried upstairs, rather than follow her Athos wandered into the breakfast room.

“Is there any coffee? I’m parched.”

“Yeah, there’s some in the pot,” Porthos told him, bristling for a second in anticipation of a crack about footmen and pouring it for him. But Athos served himself without a word, and Porthos relaxed a fraction.

“You seriously chose the name Athos over Olivier?” he asked, casting around for a safe topic of conversation.

Athos shrugged. “If you’re going to be beaten up because of your name, better for that to be because it’s unusual rather than stupid and poncey.”

“You changed it when you were a teenager didn’t you?” Porthos guessed with a grin.

“Seven, actually. When I was packed off to boarding school.”

Porthos frowned. “I can’t imagine having a kid and then sending it away. What goes through someone’s mind, to make that choice?”

“Why don’t you ask my mother? I imagine you’re currently rather more intimate with her than I am,” Athos retorted sharply.

Porthos glared at him, stung by his tone. “I suppose you’ll claim it never did you any harm?” 

“Oh no, I’m just as fucked up as everybody else.” Athos drained his cup of lukewarm coffee and set it down on the table. “This is a remarkably dysfunctional family Porthos, be careful what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Warning me off?” Porthos asked coldly. 

Athos held his gaze for a second, calmly but equally cold. 

“No. Just warning you.”

\--

To Porthos’ relief he didn’t see either Athos or Thomas for the rest of the day. He heard Tilly in the distance a couple of times, exclaiming loudly over everything as she apparently explored the house, but he couldn’t tell from the lack of audible response if Thomas was with her or not. 

He found he envied her careless manner, and her unquestioning assumption that her presence wasn’t going to be resented. At the same time he was grateful for her being there, another outsider against the chilly ranks of the la Feres. Porthos wondered what the father had been like, as he’d only ever found Angelique to be warm and kind-hearted. 

It was in a subdued mood that Porthos dressed for dinner. He suspected the meal was going to be awkward in the extreme and half of him wished he could hide in his room. The other half was full of indignation at the dismissive way he’d been treated, and the knowledge that as Angelique’s guest he had as much right to be here as any of them. 

He called at Angelique’s room on his way down, and was relieved to find her waiting for him. Escorting her in to dinner on his arm felt a little like wearing armour, as he suspected that neither son would get away with being rude about him to her face.

Thomas and Tilly were already there when they entered the candlelit dining room, and Athos wandered in a moment after Porthos and Angelique had joined them, a glass of wine already in his hand.

He took the empty seat at the head of the table, glancing round the room at the two couples with a look of amusement. 

“I feel under-dressed. I’m the only one who’s come without a gold digger.”

Before Porthos could retort, Thomas exploded. “How dare you!” 

Athos ignored him with the ease of long practice. “No offence.” He smiled at Tilly over his glass, holding her rather embarrassed glare with an air of delight. Flustered, Tilly dropped her gaze, only to glance back up and find him still watching her. He tipped his glass to her and she ventured a smile.

Porthos watched all this with mixed feelings. He was relieved that he wasn’t being singled out, but felt guilty that Tilly should be taking the flack in his stead. Angelique appeared supremely unruffled, beaming over the table with a fond gaze that took in everyone.

The food was excellent, and for the duration of the first course at least, the conversation was mostly shored up by Angelique and Tilly, who proved more than willing to elaborate on how she and Thomas had met at an outdoor concert. Tilly, it transpired, was not a model after all but worked for the MOD, and Porthos was annoyed with himself for being surprised.

"So, Thomas, what do you do?" Porthos interjected into a break in the conversation, feeling that he should be making more of an effort.

"Something tedious in local government," Athos supplied, before Thomas could open his mouth. Thomas glared at him.

"I work for the Mayor of London actually," he told Porthos, with stiff dignity.

"He makes the tea," Athos mouthed across the table and Porthos stifled a laugh.

"I do not make the bloody tea!" 

"Thomas, behave!" Angelique chided him and Thomas threw his hands up in exasperation while Athos looked delighted.

"Why is it always me who gets into trouble?" Thomas demanded.

"Maybe if both of you stopped behaving like you were still eight years old, we wouldn't have a problem."

“Maybe you’d prefer me to ask Porthos what he does for a living?” Thomas suggested through gritted teeth. “Because I’m going to take a wild guess and say it’s not much.”

“Oh, I’m sure he earns his money,” Athos put in with a smirk, and Porthos felt his face burn.

“That’s enough!” Angelique told them both sternly. “Tilly dear, tell us more about your mother’s designs.”

Peace descended as Tilly womanfully filled the breach with tales of her mother’s fashion house, and Porthos unclenched enough to be able to swallow the rest of his meal, although he tasted little of it. 

To his relief both Athos and Thomas left him alone after that, and although both Angelique and Tilly attempted to include him in the conversation, as his responses tended towards the monosyllabic, they eventually let him be.

Afterwards, angry with himself and feeling that he’d put up a poor show, not just on his own account but in front of Angelique, Porthos wandered into the drawing room in search of a nerve-calming brandy before he went up to join Angelique in her room.

In the dim light of the single lamp it took him a second to register that he wasn’t alone, and he came to a startled halt as he realised he’d interrupted Athos and Tilly in hushed conversation. 

Tilly blushed and giggled and hurried out past him, with what to Porthos’ eyes looked like a distinctly guilty expression on her face. Athos on the other hand looked entirely at ease, and before Porthos could mutter an apology and retreat, had raised the brandy decanter.

“Drink?”

Porthos hesitated, then gave a grudging nod, coming further in. “Thank you.” He accepted the glass warily, still unsure of his welcome.

“I’m sorry about dinner,” Athos murmured. “It was rude of us, to make a guest uncomfortable. I’d rather imagined you’d stand up for yourself a little more though.”

Porthos experienced a flare of resentment. “Oh, yeah, have a go at her sons in front of her? At Christmas? You’d have liked that, wouldn’t you? Make me look like a jerk in front of your mother?”

Athos blinked. “Goodness, aren’t I Machiavellian?” He downed the rest of his own drink and gave Porthos a blank look. “There was me thinking I was simply offering an apology for my behaviour. Not a mistake I’ll make twice. Goodnight.”

He headed for the door but Porthos went after him, still seething with something between anger and embarrassment. 

“You’ll have to show a bit more respect when we’re married,” Porthos snapped. Athos stopped in his tracks and turned to look back at him with a look of such incredulity that Porthos bridled.

“That’s your problem, isn’t it?” Porthos persevered. “You’re scared you might come home one day and find you’ve got a new step-father, huh?”

For a second Athos just stared at him, then slowly shook his head. 

“My God, you actually believe that’s a possibility. Let me tell you something Porthos. Let me tell you how it will go. I don’t really know you, but I do know my mother, you see I’ve known her my whole life. She likes collecting pretty things, people included. But she also gets bored easily. You may think you’re her boyfriend, but you’re not. You’re her pet. I’ve seen all the others. Enjoy it while it lasts. Because it won’t.”

“You’re just jealous!” Porthos blurted.

“Excuse me?” 

“Because I’ve got a girlfriend and you haven’t.”

“Oh.” Athos’ expression rearranged itself slightly, as if he’d been expecting Porthos to say something else. 

“You haven’t, have you?” Porthos added, belatedly realising that just because Athos hadn’t brought anyone home for Christmas, it didn’t necessarily follow that he was single.

“No. I think you’ll find I don’t want one either, thank you.”

“Oh. Right.” It was Porthos’ turn to make a mental readjustment. “You haven’t got a boyfriend either though?”

“No. You’re right, I haven’t. Well done, you’ve beat me at something, you must be so proud,” Athos drawled derisively, before turning on his heel and wandering off at an insultingly unconcerned pace.

\--

When Porthos returned to his own room that night he lay awake for some time turning the events of the day over in his head. Thomas he felt he understood – he was just fairly objectionable all round and left to his own devices would probably have ignored Porthos entirely. Athos was more of a puzzle. He was mostly civil, but with flashes of spite that took Porthos by surprise.

Tilly seemed nice enough. Porthos found himself wondering again what she’d been talking to Athos about alone in the drawing room. His first suspicion was that they’d been flirting, but if Athos was gay that was unlikely. Even if he wasn’t, would he really make a move on his brother’s girlfriend?

Athos’ comment about them being a remarkably dysfunctional family came to mind again, and Porthos huffed, turning over and burying his face in the pillow. Why was he wasting so much time worrying about the man? Another couple of days and he’d never have to see him again. 

They just had Christmas itself to get through first.

\--

Venturing down to breakfast the next morning, Porthos found to his annoyance that Athos was already in residence, drinking coffee and eating a croissant. There was no sign of anyone else and it was too late to beat a retreat because Athos had already seen him.

“Morning,” Porthos said gruffly, and Athos toasted him silently with his coffee cup.

“And – Happy Christmas, I suppose,” Porthos added as an afterthought, once he’d sat down. 

That at least elicited a wry smile. “Indeed. Happy Christmas. I hope your stocking was suitably stuffed this morning?” Athos enquired, and Porthos resisted the urge to throw a croissant at him. Although it did remind him of a point that had been bothering him, and he’d forgotten to raise it with Angelique last night.

“Um.” He fiddled with his cup and saucer, and decided it was best to get it over with. “Look, I guess there’ll be presents later, and I didn’t know you and Thomas were coming, and - ”

“And you haven’t got us anything? I’m hurt.” To his relief Athos smiled, waving it away. “I’m sure it will make you feel better to know I haven’t got anything for you either. Or for Tilly. For that matter Thomas and I don’t bother with gifts for each other any more either. Nobody’s going to be offended.” 

Porthos nodded. “Thanks.” 

Athos studied him for a moment, and seemed on the verge of saying something when Angelique swept into the room and Porthos rose to greet her.

“Is Thomas not up yet?” she tutted, having wished them both a merry Christmas and been served with tea by Porthos. 

“I could go and chuck a bucket of water over him?” Athos offered, and held his hands up in surrender when his mother gave him an exasperated look. “Well if nobody’s willing to be proactive...”

“We don’t want Tilly to go home thinking we’re all animals dear.”

“On the basis she’s already sleeping with Thomas, I doubt it would put her off.”

“Olivier!”

Athos winced, and Angelique nodded meaningfully. “You want to behave like a child, I’ll treat you like one. You want me to respect your choices, you’ll respect mine, and behave like an adult. I’m sure even you can manage that for two days.”

She disappeared in search of Thomas and Athos gave Porthos a rueful look. “Five minutes in this place and I regress to acting like a six year old. I knew I shouldn’t have come.”

“Why’s she so keen to get Thomas up?” Porthos asked, wondering if Christmas breakfast was a family tradition or something.

“Church,” said Athos grimly. “Christmas morning service. We all have to go.”

“Oh. Right.” Porthos was taken aback. He’d never thought of Angelique as being particularly religious.

“It’s _expected,_ ” said Athos darkly. “Hope you’ve brought your outfit,” he added.

“What?” Porthos stared at him in consternation, then snorted. “Bastard.”

Athos broke into an unexpected grin. “Remind me never to play poker with you. You have a distressingly suspicious mind.” He got up and brushed pastry flakes from his shirt. “See you later I suppose.”

\--

The walk to the village church turned out to be a pleasant one. Wrapped up well against the biting wind, with Angelique on his arm, Porthos indulged himself in daydreams of being lord of the manor and doing this sort of thing all the time. He supposed technically right now that role went to Athos, and stole a look round at him. Athos was some way behind them, pointing out things of interest in the landscape to Tilly. Thomas was further back still, sulking at being made to get out of his warm bed.

As they reached the village proper and trooped through the lychgate of the little church, Porthos had the sinking sensation of being a fish out of water. Would he be expected to sing hymns? Take communion? He didn’t want to show up Angelique by not knowing what to do, and he definitely didn’t want make a fool of himself in front of Athos and Thomas.

Porthos hesitated outside the door, ostensibly waiting for Angelique who was greeting some friends, but Athos caught his look of abject nerves as he walked past.

“Alright?” His enquiry sounded curious rather than concerned, but he kept it low enough to be discreet. Porthos gave him a sheepish smile.

“Yeah. I just can’t remember the last time I was inside a church, that’s all.”

“Well I shouldn’t worry. If it turns out there’s a test, we’re all fucked.”

Porthos swallowed down a snort of grateful laughter, his eyes on Athos’ back as he walked ahead into the church. He was starting to hope that despite initial appearances, Athos didn’t actually have anything against him personally and was just naturally spiky with everyone.

In the end Porthos found he quite enjoyed the service, although he did tune out rather during the sermon itself, letting his eyes roam around the church instead. It was simply and elegantly decorated with winter greenery and candles, with carved angels peeping through the leaves. He tried to picture the family coming here over the years, the two bored boys staring round them like he was now. He looked along the pew to where Athos was sitting nearest the wall, and found he was staring upwards at the roof.

Porthos looked up too, and discovered that the ceiling between the roof trusses was painted with faded gold and silver stars. Captivated, he stared upwards at the distant constellations until he went dizzy, and walking out afterwards into the sunshine felt like he’d unwittingly shared a moment with Athos that the other man was unaware of.

The rest of the day passed relatively harmoniously, the good cheer helped along by copious amounts of food and drink. Angelique produced presents for everyone, even a box of hastily wrapped chocolates for Tilly, and to Porthos’ relief the number of expensive gifts he received himself went largely unremarked. Thomas confined himself to one barbed jibe, and Athos seemed too interested in working his way through the bottle of vintage port he’d received to comment on anyone else’s presents.

In the evening, having industriously persevered through a second meal despite being still entirely full from lunch, they reconvened in the sitting room and Porthos was highly entertained when Angelique prevailed upon Athos to play them something on the piano. He protested vigorously, but everyone else chimed in to second the demand, Tilly with genuine enthusiasm and Porthos and Thomas briefly united by a childish urge to make him suffer.

Athos went over to the piano with bad grace, and Porthos got another flash of him as a little boy, being forced to perform for family parties. He had a moment of wondering if part of Athos’ occasional flares of bile stemmed from embarrassment, at being made to feel like a child in front of strangers. Maybe it explained why he kept cosying up to Tilly.

“Do you play anything?” Porthos asked Thomas, who smirked.

“Cello. But not since I was a teenager, and happily there isn’t one in the house, so she can’t make me.”

“Well I’m just glad the lessons weren’t wasted on one of you, at least,” said Angelique, making him snigger.

Porthos would have said more, but at that point Athos started playing, and he forgot what he was going to say. Somehow Athos’ reluctance had lead him to imagine that he wouldn’t be very good, especially playing from memory, but he was note perfect. Porthos recognised the tune vaguely, although he would never have been able to name either the piece or the composer. 

He watched Athos’ hands moving across the keys, and was struck by how nice they looked. There was something oddly erotic about watching someone play an instrument he thought, then shook himself. Having inappropriate thoughts about the hands of his girlfriend’s son was hardly the thing to do. Especially when said son was an acerbic bastard who openly resented his presence.

Mollified by the genuinely impressed reception his first piece received, Athos played them another couple of movements from something else, but it was all classical and Porthos wished he’d play something a bit more lively.

Slightly drunk and still annoyed at himself for having inadvertently categorised anything to do with the man as attractive, Porthos called out to him. “Do you do anything from this century?” 

“Do you?” Athos shot back, then ducked as his mother slapped him round the back of the head. “Ow!”

“Don’t be rude.” 

“I only meant - ”

“We know perfectly well what you meant, you cheeky little bugger.”

Thomas chortled from where he was slumped in the depths of the sofa, pleased to see Athos getting the worst of it for once. A moment later his expression slid back into a scowl as Tilly got up and walked over to join Athos at the piano.

“Do you know Hallelujah?” she asked. Athos looked surprised but nodded, and after a couple of experimental notes started playing a passable version. Tilly turned out to have a very good voice, but despite her appreciative audience Porthos didn’t miss the fact that she kept her eyes fixed on Athos throughout the song. 

The smile he gave her when they drew to a close for some reason made Porthos clench his fingers so hard around his glass that he had to make himself put it down in case he broke it.

Angelique immediately demanded they all sing more, and this time together, but Porthos excused himself on the grounds of needing the bathroom.

Having relieved himself he lingered in the hallway rather than rejoining them. He could hear laughter and music drifting through the house, both from the sitting room and more distantly from the servants’ wing and felt suddenly, jarringly out of place. Instead of going back in he walked the other way, out into the porch at the back of the house that looked into the grounds. 

For a second he thought it was raining, then realised with surprise that it was snow drifting down past the glass. Peering out past the spill of light from the house he could make out white drifts along the path suggesting it had been falling unnoticed for some time.

“Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me.”

The voice behind him made Porthos jump, not having heard Athos approach. Assuming the irritable sentence was aimed at him he spun round defensively, but Athos was staring over his shoulder, out into the wintry garden.

“What’s wrong?” 

“Snow? This is England, we never get snow at Christmas,” Athos complained.

“It’s nice!”

“Nice? It’s a pain in the arse, that’s what it is. Look, it’s bloody settling, how am I supposed to drive in this tomorrow?”

“Where were you going?”

“Home. Back to work.”

“It’s still Christmas!”

“No it isn’t. Christmas is over. Done with. End of. I have a life to get back to.”

Porthos found he had a hard time picturing Athos with a circle of friends. “A life? Or just a job?” 

“There’s a difference?”

Porthos laughed. “Do you even have to work, with your money?”

“What money?” Athos glanced at him. “Alright, so I’m hardly destitute. But I’m not rolling in it. My father left everything to my mother, as I’m sure you’re well aware. So yes, I have to work for a living. I suppose I could spend my life sponging off rich widows, but I’m afflicted by a little thing called self-respect. You probably wouldn’t have heard of it.”

“Ouch.”

Athos was silent for a moment, then sighed. “Sorry. That was uncalled for.”

Porthos wondered for the first time why Athos had followed him out here. Presumably not just to insult him, but you never knew. 

“Did you grow up here?” he asked, struck by a desire to keep the conversation going and put off the moment they’d have to return to the others.

“Mmn.”

“Must have been nice?”

“Cold,” said Athos after a moment’s reflection. “That’s what I mostly remember. Everywhere was bloody freezing. Moving into a centrally heated flat was the most revelatory day of my life.”

“What, all those log fires, and it was cold?”

“One log fire, in the sitting room. If you were more than a couple of metres away from it, you needed six jumpers on for about half the year. We were born into the wrong generation to be allowed an open fire in our bedrooms as children,” he said with a rueful smile. “It was considered too dangerous. And the place cost too much to run for us to have electric heaters.”

“But apart from being a bit nippy it was okay? You had enough to eat? Decent education? Family support, even if they were a bit stiff from having the upper-class stick up their arse?”

That got a crooked smile. “Yes, I suppose so. Yes.”

Porthos nodded. “My mum died when I was five. I never knew my father. I was in and out of various homes and foster families for years, never in one place long enough to feel like I belonged, or to settle into a school long enough to get any grades. It was tough. It felt like the whole world was against me. So I guess – I suppose I just felt like the universe owed me something nice. Bit of payback for all the years of hunger and misery.”

Athos eyed him. “Why are you telling me all this?” he asked neutrally.

“I suppose I just don’t want you to hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.” Athos stared blankly at the tiled floor.

“You don’t?” Porthos asked hopefully.

“Honestly? I pity you.” Athos walked away, leaving Porthos mournfully watching the falling snow.

\--

With a certain reluctance Porthos returned to the sitting room, only to be unaccountably disappointed to find that Athos wasn’t there ahead of him. At Angelique’s urging he joined in with a couple more songs, but his heart wasn’t in it, and without Athos accompanying them at the piano it all sounded a bit ragged. 

When Angelique said she was going to retire for the night, discreetly indicating she was too tired to require company, Porthos felt guiltily relieved. He said goodnight to the others, but rather than going upstairs found his feet carrying him back to the rear porch.

He unlocked the door and stepped out into the freshly fallen snow, turning his face up to the dark clouds and feeling the flakes settle and melt on his warm skin.

“You’ll catch your death.”

This time, the dry voice behind him didn’t make him jump.

“I’m going to start thinking you’re following me,” Porthos said without turning round.

“I was going to bed. I felt a draught.” Athos stepped out beside him, and shoved his hands in his pockets, shivering. “What are you doing out here?”

“I’m going for a walk,” Porthos announced. He hadn’t been intending to, but the impulse was suddenly there. There was something magical about snow that set his heart soaring.

“You’ll get soaked. And probably chilblains.”

Porthos looked down at his expensive trainers. “These are the only shoes I’ve got with me.”

Athos rolled his eyes, and beckoned Porthos to follow him. A little resentfully, Porthos did so and found that Athos had lead him into what he’d assumed was a cupboard but turned out to be an entire room full of coats and boots and umbrellas and fishing tackle and tennis rackets.

“Take your pick, there’s probably something here that’ll fit you.”

“I dunno, I’ve got pretty big feet,” Porthos grinned. 

“Try these,” Athos said, ignoring the insinuation and slapping a pair of faded green wellies against his chest. 

“It’s another world here, isn’t it?” Porthos sighed, climbing into a big waterproof coat that Athos passed him.

“I’d have thought a man in your position had been to no end of country house weekends.”

“You don’t think much of me, do you?”

“Reverse our positions for a moment. Would you?”

Porthos said nothing, although he had to admit if only to himself that Athos probably had a point. He tried the wellingtons and was pleased to find that they did fit. He watched in surprise as Athos pulled on a pair too, and walked outside with him.

The snow crunched underfoot, and the air nipped at their faces. At first Porthos was half-resentful of Athos’ presence, feeling he couldn’t gambol about in the snow like he wanted to, but after a minute or so decided he was rather glad of the company. Light from the windows blazed out across the garden, but beyond its reach the quiet darkness might have been rather spooky to navigate alone.

Athos walked beside him, offering no conversation but the silence didn’t feel uncomfortable.

“Woah, what are they?” Porthos eyed a sinister crowd of snow-covered lumps rising out of the lawn as they rounded an old brick wall. It looked like the earth had spawned a host of frozen ghosts looming out of the dark.

“Just the topiary,” Athos said. 

“Snowpiary,” Porthos suggested, and snuck a look sideways at Athos, whose lips were pressed tight enough to suggest he was trying really hard not to laugh.

“Oh come on, one laugh won’t kill you,” Porthos protested, and Athos finally let out an amused cough.

Vindicated, Porthos decided to push his luck. “Okay, I’ve got to ask, is that one meant to look like a cock and balls?”

Athos automatically turned to look at the particular bush he was pointing at. “No! It’s a fleur-de-lys, as far as I can remember.”

“Looks like a cock.”

“No it doesn’t,” Athos protested, then sighed as Porthos stared fixedly at him. He reconsidered the snow-covered shape, and shrugged. “Alright, maybe it does. A bit.”

“Told you.” Porthos grinned, happy with the victory and Athos shook his head, smiling back at him. 

“You’re loopy. What are we even doing out here?”

“You came with me,” Porthos pointed out. “What does that make you?”

“Cold,” Athos declared. “And going to bed. Goodnight, Porthos. Lock up, when you come in?” He walked off back towards the house. After a while Porthos saw another light go on on the second floor, and wondered if that was Athos’ room.

He stifled a yawn, rubbing his cold fingers together. Maybe it was time to go to bed after all. Athos had been right, it looked like the snow would still be here tomorrow. As fun as it was, right now, there was a warm bed in his immediate future.

\--

It was past midnight by the time the household had all gone up to bed, and Athos had sat up for some time after that, drinking the last of the port and watching the silent snow fall past his window. 

When there was a soft knock at his bedroom door a few minutes before one am, he frowned to himself before going to open it. When he saw who it was he gave a quiet laugh, but stepped back to let them come in. 

“I think you’ve got the wrong room,” he said softly.

Tilly looked at him from under a spill of hair that gleamed gold in the lamplight. 

“No. I think I’ve got the right room.” 

Athos watched with appreciative amusement as she let the satin nightdress slip from her shoulders to pool around her feet. She was naked underneath, and stepped towards him with a demure smile.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Athos said quietly, but he didn’t protest when she wound her arms around his neck and pressed up against him. 

“Think of this as your Christmas present if you like.” Her eyes were knowing and there was laughter in them that spoke to his sense of devilry.

Making his mind up, Athos kissed her, sudden and hungry, and lifting her up into his arms carried her the handful of paces across to the bed.

\--

The house was quiet, the whisper of snow against the windowpane imagined more than heard. Athos stroked Tilly’s hair as she lay nestled against him, head resting on his chest.

“Did you mean what you said before?” Tilly murmured after a while. “About your inheritance?”

Athos smiled, mostly at the lack of any genuine interest in her tone. Why was she here tonight? Not for money. Boredom, perhaps. They’d seen it in each other, recognised it for what it was. His answer, therefore, was immaterial.

“Honestly? Not a clue.”

Tilly gave a breathy laugh, and sat up. “You’re a bad boy.”

“I thought that was why you were here.”

“I should go.”

“Yes, you should.” He smiled at her and she leaned over to kiss him, lingeringly sweet. 

“I could stay?” she ventured.

“No. You couldn’t. I’m sorry.”

Tilly nodded acceptingly, and climbed out to retrieve her nightdress. “Night then.”

“Goodnight Tilly. And thank you.”

She smiled down at Athos in the bed, eyes bright with amusement. “You’re better than your brother you know.”

“I strongly suggest you don’t tell him that.”

Tilly blew him a kiss and slipped out of the door. Athos sank back against the pillow, and started laughing.

\--

When Porthos came down the next morning after a restless night, he found there was a full-blown argument going on in the hallway. Thomas and Athos appeared to be near to blows, whilst Tilly was clinging to Thomas’ arm and attempting to drag him away.

Angelique was standing to one side, watching the proceedings with a look of despairing parental disapproval, but little real concern.

“What happened?” Porthos asked, sidling up to her. Thomas was red-faced with rage, although Athos didn’t seem to be particularly angry himself. Watching for a moment suggested that Athos’ replies were distinctly mocking in tone, which was obviously winding Thomas up even further, but Porthos couldn’t catch the gist of the argument.

Angelique made a face. “Apparently Athos slept with Tilly last night,” she admitted.

Porthos felt something like a stone settle in his stomach. “What?”

“He really is the limit.” Angelique sighed, shaking her head. “What the hell was he thinking?”

At this point Thomas stormed past them and up the stairs, followed by Tilly. Angelique gave Porthos an apologetic look.

“I’d better see if I can pour any oil on troubled waters,” she murmured, and followed them up.

Finding himself left alone with Athos, Porthos stared at him incredulously.

“What was all that about?” 

Athos shrugged. “I wanted to know if she was simply after his money, so I suggested to her that as the younger son Thomas was unlikely to inherit more than a pile of beans and she’d be better off with me. Lo and behold, she turned up in my room last night. Rather proving my point, I feel.”

“But you did actually sleep with her?”

“Oh yes. Well, it seemed a shame to waste the opportunity.”

“But you’re gay!”

Athos blinked. “No I’m not.”

“You told me - ” Porthos faltered, realisation dawning. “No, wait. You told me you didn’t want a girlfriend.”

“Which is true.”

Porthos shook his head. “You really are a bastard.”

“Entirely legitimate I’m afraid, but I take your point.” Athos smiled. “And what about you?” he asked silkily.

“You what?” Porthos wondered for a confused second if Athos was referring to his parentage.

“Are you here for love? Or just for the money? Because let’s face it, my mother isn’t going to be around forever and of the two of us I’d be a much better bet in the long run.” Athos’ hand slid over Porthos’ where it was resting on the bottom of the bannister and Porthos looked at him in shock.

“What the fuck are you - ?” He ripped his hand away and before he’d thought it through had swung it back and punched Athos hard in the mouth.

A scream startled him, and Porthos whirled round to find Tilly and Thomas coming back down the stairs, Thomas carrying two suitcases that he must have already packed earlier.

Tilly rushed past him to go to Athos, who was holding a bloodied handkerchief to his mouth but looking otherwise irritatingly unruffled.

Angelique appeared at the top of the stairs, out of breath from trying to keep up with her wayward offspring. “What happened?” 

“Porthos hit him,” Tilly exclaimed.

Thomas glanced at Porthos as he passed and gave him a grunt of approval. “Good for you. I’m sure he deserved it. Come on Tilly, we’re leaving.” He stalked out of the front door carrying their cases without looking to see if she was following.

Athos was helping her into her coat. “You can do better than him you know,” he murmured. She gave him an impish smile.

“But I like him.” She followed Thomas out of the door with a careless wave, and Athos gave a pained laugh, exploring his swollen lip cautiously with his tongue.

Porthos stared helplessly at him, torn between wanting to apologise and somehow wanting to hit him again. Angelique, having established that Athos wasn’t badly hurt, had followed Tilly out of the door to wave them off.

“How did he find out?” Porthos asked stonily. If Athos had boasted of it to Thomas, he wasn’t sure he could forgive him that. But Athos shrugged.

“I imagine she told him.”

“Why?”

Athos made an impatient gesture with his hands. “How should I know? Why do women do anything?” He shook his head. “I’m going back to bed. Assuming you’ve finished using me as a punch bag?”

This time Porthos opened his mouth to apologise but Athos didn’t wait, just stalked past him up the stairs.

“Did you really hit him?” Angelique had come back inside, pulling her cashmere shawl more tightly around her shoulders against the cold.

“Yeah. Sorry.” Porthos sagged a little, half-expecting to be thrown out himself. Angelique studied him critically.

“Did he deserve it?”

Porthos hesitated. “Probably.”

“That’s alright then.” Angelique took in his expression and laughed. “Dear me, what a serious face! They spent their whole childhoods scrapping, one more bruise isn’t going to bother either of them. Come and have breakfast.”

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Porthos asked, following her down the hall. “That Athos slept with Thomas’ girlfriend?”

“Thomas stole his fiancée once,” Angelique told him. “Maybe it was revenge. Or not. You can never be quite sure with those two. Coffee? Or Tea?”

Porthos gave up trying to make sense of it. If the roads were clear enough for Thomas to drive home, presumably Athos would be following in very short order, and he’d never have to think about the man again.

And if he absent-mindedly took the seat where he could see Athos’ car through the window, well, he’d sat here every morning hadn’t he? Porthos drank hot coffee, and tried to forget the feeling of Athos’ hand resting on top of his own.

\--

Despite his moaning of the previous night and despite the roads being relatively clear, Athos didn’t leave that day and turned up at the supper table as if nothing had happened. 

Porthos watched him covertly as Athos talked to his mother, wondering why he was still here. He wondered too if he should belatedly apologise for punching him, although Athos didn’t seem to be holding it against him. Every now and then he’d suck at his fat lip. Porthos assumed he didn’t know he was doing it, although it was quite distracting. Unbidden, the image of himself kissing it better sprang into his mind, and Porthos almost knocked over his wine glass.

It was a relief when bedtime came around, but as Porthos escorted Angelique to her room, he recognised with a certain heavy sense of inevitability that his heart wasn’t in this any more. He had a sneaking suspicion that his heart currently lay a few doors down and one floor up, but after everything that had happened, that was surely one avenue that was firmly closed.

Porthos made love to Angelique as attentively as ever, but afterwards as he pulled on a robe in readiness to go back to his own room, he sat down again on the edge of the bed instead of leaving.

“There’s something I should tell you.”

“Goodness, that sounds very serious.” Angelique too had slipped into her nightwear and looked at him quizzically as she pulled a warm wrap around her shoulders. 

“I don’t – I’m not in love with you.”

She stared at him for a second, then gave a surprised little laugh. “Darling, I didn’t imagine you were. Oh good Lord, have you been talking to Athos?”

Porthos gave a non-committal shrug, and she rolled her eyes. “You don’t want to take any notice of him. He’s just a protective little boy under all that bile, doesn’t like to see his mummy making a fool of herself. I’ve spent my life being a dutiful wife and mother Porthos, so if I don’t get to make a fool of myself now, then when?”

He smiled, relieved that Angelique’s view of their relationship wasn’t at all romanticised. He had no desire to hurt her.

“They disapprove, so what?” she continued. “It’s not like it’s their inheritance I’m spending on you. It’s my own money, I can do what I like with it.”

“Really?” Not that it mattered where the money came from, but Porthos hadn’t imagined Angelique had much income of her own.

She sighed. “Let me tell you a secret. There was no inheritance. My husband – was not good with money. He made a number of bad investments. At the end there was virtually nothing left. To save embarrassment he left everything to me rather than the boys, so the world wouldn’t find out we were virtually bankrupt.”

“You could have sold this place, surely?” Porthos suggested. “It’d get you a nice cosy flat in the city.”

Angelique shook her head. “It’s all the boys have left. When the time comes – they can sell it then, split the proceeds. It’s all they’ll get. I don’t imagine they’ll argue about selling up, neither of them are remotely sentimental.”

“But - ” Porthos was starting to feel guilty. He’d been happily spending her money like water, imagining there was plenty of it. Angelique guessed the direction of his thoughts and patted his hand.

“When their father died, I was forced to start thinking laterally. With what little was left and some of my jewellery, I had the stables and barn converted into holiday cottages and a farm shop. It brings in enough to keep the house running, and gives me something to play with.” She ran a teasing finger along his arm. “Also, it turned out I had rather more of a knack for investment than my late husband.”

“Do they know? Athos and Thomas? About the money?”

“I sometimes think Athos suspects. He’s certainly never made any noises about expecting anything. Always been determined to make his own way.” Angelique smiled. “He likes you, you know. Athos.”

Porthos stared at her. “Likes me? Christ, what would he be like if he hated me?”

“Well, since you ask – I think it was two summers ago – he ran one of my lovers out of the house at gunpoint.”

“Gunpoint!”

“Oh, it was only one of the old shotguns from the wall in the dining room. It wasn’t loaded, although Frank didn’t know that.”

“And you didn’t tell him.”

“No...”

“You like all this, don’t you?” Porthos realised suddenly. “All the drama, all the arguments. You brought me here on purpose, knowing they wouldn’t approve.”

“Guilty as charged darling. Sorry.” Angelique looked less than guilty, and Porthos laughed. 

“Athos warned me this family was bonkers. I didn’t think he meant you as well.”

“It’s so quiet out here. Can you blame me for wanting to liven things up a little?” Angelique smiled at him, then sighed. “You’re leaving me, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I think so. I think it would be best.”

“Because of Athos?”

 _Not in the sense you mean_ , Porthos thought to himself. 

“No. Because of me. I’m sorry.”

Angelique nodded. “We’ve had fun though. Haven’t we?”

“Of course we have.” Porthos took her hands in his and kissed her. “It’s been amazing. And I don’t want to look ungrateful - ” 

“Oh pish.” Angelique gave him a gentle shove. “Don’t start on that rubbish. It’s supposed to be fun, remember? Once it stops being that - for either party - it’s time to move on.”

He nodded, relieved and grateful and embarrassed that she was giving him such an easy way out. 

“I’ll go home tomorrow, then.” 

“I’m not throwing you out? Stay, if you want? As long as you like.”

Porthos got to his feet. “Thank you. But I’d better be going. Clean break, eh?” He kissed her goodnight – and goodbye – and went back to his own room. 

He’d need to find a job, he realised. No way he could afford to keep on his current apartment for long, subsidised as it was by Angelique. He was giving up a lot more than a lover, and for what? But as he climbed into bed he felt easier in his mind than he had for days, and for once his sleep was deep and dreamless.

\--

The next morning Porthos was packed and ready to go before he realised he wasn’t exactly sure how he was going to get home. He’d come up by train and then taxi with Angelique, which left him rather stranded. The station wasn’t all that far, but he wasn’t sure of the route, and it wouldn’t be easy to walk it in the snow with a heavy bag.

He’d been relieved when Angelique hadn’t come down to breakfast, suspecting she was letting him go without any awkward farewells, but now he was at a bit of a loss as what to do.

He was dithering in the hallway, poking about on the telephone table for taxi cards and too embarrassed to go and ask the staff when Athos came down the stairs. He had his jacket on and his own bag over his shoulder and was clearly on the way out himself.

“Haven’t got the number of a local taxi firm have you?” Porthos asked hopefully. “I need to get to the station.”

“Give you a lift if you like? I’m off myself, I’ll be headed past it,” Athos offered readily, and Porthos breathed a sigh of relief.

“That’s very kind of you.”

“No problem. You ready now?”

Porthos nodded and followed him out. Maybe Athos just wanted to make sure he was leaving, he thought, then wondered if he was being uncharitable. He looked back up at the house, and found Angelique was watching them from her bedroom window. He waved instinctively, and was glad when she waved back. 

The journey to the station took less than ten minutes and with Athos concentrating on the narrow and icy lanes, was almost devoid of all conversation. Porthos didn’t know what to say in any case, but when he climbed out of the car it was with a sense of regret at an opportunity missed. 

As Porthos picked his way across the slippery car park to the station entrance, Athos raised a hand in farewell and drove to the exit. He was waiting for a lorry to grind its way past when he noticed in the mirror that Porthos had been intercepted by a railway guard, and looked like he was being turned away. 

Athos considered pretending he hadn’t noticed, then sighed. He reversed back and lowered the passenger window. “What’s up?”

Porthos leaned over to look in at him. “No trains. Ice in the signals, or some bollocks. There might be a replacement bus, at some point, possibly,” he said gloomily.

“Where are you headed?”

“London.”

Athos hesitated, then made his mind up. “Me too. Jump in.” He indicated the passenger seat with a jerk of his head, and Porthos pulled the door open thankfully.

“Thank you so much.”

“No problem.”

They drove in silence for a while. Athos was a good driver, and Porthos studied him surreptitiously, plucking up the courage to start a conversation. 

“I’m not seeing your mother any more.”

Athos glanced sideways at him. “Her decision, or yours?”

“Pretty mutual.”

“She told you there was no money, didn’t she?”

Porthos was startled. “Yeah,” he admitted, then realised how that sounded.

“Is that why you’re leaving?” Athos enquired, before he could explain.

“What? No, it was afterwards! Is that what you fucking think of me? Right, stop the car, I’ll wait for the fucking bus!”

“Oh, calm down. I was only asking.” Keeping his eyes on the road, his tone neutrally amused.

Porthos subsided. Athos had seemed to believe him, and it had rather taken the force out of his righteous anger. 

“You know then? About the lack of inheritance?” he ventured after a moment.

“Obviously.”

“Listening at keyholes?” Porthos jibed.

“I see your opinion of me is no higher than mine was of you. And no, my father told me before he died.”

“Thomas doesn’t know?”

Athos hesitated. “No. I think – it’s an awful thing to say of one’s own brother, but I don’t think he’d show up much if he knew, and neither of us goes to see her enough as it is.”

Something clicked. “You told Tilly that Thomas wasn’t likely to get anything. Is that what you were doing? Warning her off?”

Athos smiled. “You do seem to credit me with a great deal of devious ingenuity. How do you know I’m not just an opportunist bastard?”

“Are you?”

“Which would you prefer?”

Porthos didn’t answer. “Would you really have slept with me?” he asked instead.

“To prove my point?” Athos’ lips curled into a smile. “Yes. Of course.”

“I shouldn’t have hit you. I’m sorry about that.”

“Not the first time I’ve been punched for making an ill-advised pass at a man,” Athos told him with a slight laugh.

“That wasn’t why I hit you,” Porthos protested uncomfortably. “Not because you were a man. I just – it was the insinuation you were making. That I was only there for the money.”

“You were,” Athos pointed out. “You as good as told me that.”

“Well yeah, but – I did genuinely like her.”

“Not enough to stay.”

“No.” Porthos sighed, and stared out of the side window for a while at the passing fields. Athos left him alone with his thoughts, apparently content to drive in silence as Porthos tried to make sense of his jumbled emotions.

“Did you really once run someone out of the house with an unloaded shotgun?” Porthos asked after a few more miles.

“Who told you it was unloaded?”

“Angelique. Wasn’t it?”

“Of course not, what’s the point in threatening someone with an empty gun?”

Porthos shook his head in disbelief. “I guess I got off lightly.”

Athos gave him a sideways look. “I didn’t like him, and I didn’t trust his intentions. You, on the other hand, seemed to be making her happy. I almost certainly wouldn’t have shot you.”

“I’m flattered.” Porthos laughed. “Nah, but you were right, much as I hate to say it. It’s time I grew up a bit. Started making my own way.”

“I’d tell you you’ll find it more rewarding, but that would be patronising and probably untrue, so I’ll spare you.”

Porthos laughed, then took a deep breath. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Athos raised his eyebrows. “I’m driving.”

“Later, I meant. Some other time. Whenever you like.”

“Would this be a friendly drink, or a date drink?” Athos asked cautiously. 

Porthos bit his lip. “Date drink.”

Athos took a second before answering. “It would be a bad idea.”

“I thought they were your favourite. Or was sleeping with Tilly a stroke of genius?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time. She turned up naked in my bedroom. I have bad impulse control.”

“Maybe I should try that.”

Athos smirked. “You missed your chance.”

“So? Drink?”

Athos sighed. “Can I think about it?”

“Yeah, I guess.” A little disappointed, Porthos went back to staring out of the window. Athos hadn’t exactly jumped at the chance, but on the other hand he hadn’t given an outright no, either. Unless he was trying to think of a way to let him down gently, but given Athos’ behaviour to date that seemed unlikely.

The rest of the drive was uneventful. They stopped once, briefly, for coffee and a toilet break, but a couple of hours later Athos was dropping Porthos off at the end of his road.

“So?” Porthos pressed, loathe to leave the warmth of the car and abandon the possibility of seeing him again. “Did you decide if I’m worth having a drink with yet?”

\--

Porthos walked into the Prospect of Whitby a few days later with a sense of nervous anticipation. He wondered if doing this was in any way remotely sensible. Athos had spent most of the previous weekend being rude to him, not to mention sleeping with Tilly. But Porthos couldn't get him out of his head, and Athos had, after all, agreed to this drink when he didn’t have to.

He spotted Athos a moment before Athos saw him, standing at the window with a glass in his hand, looking out towards the river. Porthos' heart gave a strange leap just at the sight of him, and the butterflies in his stomach went into overdrive. It was ridiculous, he thought, that just the sight of the man could affect him so physically. And then Athos turned and caught sight of him, and smiled so instinctively that some of the nerves bled away.

"Porthos. Hello." Athos was wearing an open-necked shirt and black jeans, and his smile of welcome held just enough reciprocal nerves to make Porthos feel better.

"Hey." He grinned back at Athos, suddenly tongue-tied and at a loss to know what to do with his hands. He shoved them in his pockets and bounced restlessly on his toes.

"Let me get you a drink," Athos offered, and as he moved towards the bar Porthos found his voice.

"I'll get them!" 

Athos looked taken aback by at his sudden vehemence, and Porthos gave a sheepish laugh.

"Wouldn't want you to think I was sponging," he explained, and Athos smiled.

"You can buy the next round then." 

While they were waiting to be served, Porthos finally took in the fact that Athos already had an empty glass in his hand, and winced. 

"Sorry, you been waiting long?"

Athos shook his head. "Couple of minutes, that's all."

"Meaning half an hour?" Porthos guessed.

"Okay, maybe nearer twenty. I was stupidly early, that's all."

The thought that Athos had possibly been looking forward to tonight enough to turn up early put a helpless grin back on Porthos' face.

They settled into a dark corner with their drinks. Still rather jittery with nerves, Porthos prattled on about whatever came into his head for some time, until it dawned on him that Athos hadn’t said a word for about ten minutes and he ground to a halt in the middle of a sentence.

“Sorry, I’ll shut up.”

Athos looked surprised. “Why? I was listening, I promise.”

“I’m doing all the talking.”

“You’re better at it than me.” Athos smiled at him. “And – relax, would you? I promise I’m not packing a shotgun.”

Porthos gave a bark of laughter. “Well, that’s alright then.” He drained his glass and shot to his feet, almost upsetting the table. “Same again?”

“Thank you.” Athos watched him go back over to the bar and hid a smile. He’d had half a mind to cancel this evening, but was starting to be glad he hadn’t. There was something horribly adorable about Porthos, although he was still at a loss as to what the man apparently saw in him. 

“I’m glad you agreed to come tonight,” Porthos said, setting their fresh drinks down with care and wriggling back onto the bench beside Athos.

“I nearly didn’t,” Athos admitted, and Porthos looked pained.

“Am I that bad?”

“You as a person? You’re fine,” Athos said. “And rather against my better judgement I like you, I really do. But less than a week ago you were dating my mother, and that’s – just a bit weird.”

“You like me?”

Athos suppressed a laugh. “You only heard half that sentence, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t much like the second bit, so I’m ignoring it,” Porthos told him. “Besides, the way your family seems to share partners, what’s the issue?”

Athos opened and closed his mouth a couple of times trying to form a reply. “It’s just not normally my mother,” he said weakly. 

Porthos shrugged. “Life’s short. Suck it up.”

Athos rested his chin in the palm of his hand and looked at him with increasing amusement. “I’m beginning to think I may have underestimated you.”

“And I think I’m starting to figure you out,” Porthos told him. Athos seemed to appreciate directness, even to the point of bluntness, so that’s what he’d give him.

“Should I be worried?” Athos smiled.

“Depends what you’ve got to hide.”

“Oh, I’m not very interesting. Tell me more about you. What do you do when you’re not seducing rich old ladies?”

“Rich old men, mostly,” Porthos said, making Athos laugh. “I mean, it’s not a – not a thing, for me,” Porthos added hastily, not wanting Athos to get the wrong idea.

“You mean you haven't got a wrinkly kink?” Athos supplied helpfully, and Porthos creased up with horrified laughter.

“No!”

“Because I was wondering, you know, I mean I must be about fifty years too young for you.”

“Shut up! It wasn’t like that,” Porthos spluttered, relieved that Athos was clearly only teasing him. When they’d both stopped laughing and shoving each other, he settled back into the corner and sighed.

“I did work in marketing for a bit,” Porthos told him. “And then one day – one of the clients – well, I started doing more and more for her, you know?”

“The personal touch?” Athos suggested with a smirk, and Porthos kicked at his ankle.

“Yeah. It all got a bit – extra-curricular. I was marketing myself, I suppose. And I dunno, one thing lead to another, and the thing with her lead to a thing with somebody else, and – I guess I just got used to the lifestyle.” He looked a little downcast. “I suppose I didn’t really earn any of it.”

“Oh I don’t know. Sounds like you kept your end up,” Athos said, making Porthos choke on his drink.

“Are you looking for a job now then?” Athos asked after a moment.

“I suppose I’ll have to, if I don’t want to end up out on the street.”

“It’s just – I'm looking for a Head of Hospitality for my company. Someone who can greet clients, create a good impression, arrange networking events, make sure guests are happy, generally be nice to people."

"The bits you're crap at in other words?"

Athos bit back a laugh. "Yes, I suppose so, if you must put it like that." Porthos just stared at him, and Athos looked enquiring. "So? How about it?" 

Porthos looked down into his drink. "How is me accepting a job from you any better than what you've already accused me of?" he asked quietly. “I don’t want you to think I’m here because I want something from you.”

"Look, I need someone, whether it's you or not. I just happen to think you're exactly what I'm looking for."

Porthos looked up again sharply, trying to work out whether the double meaning was there, or if he was just imagining it.

"You're not going to be difficult about this, are you?" Athos persisted. 

Porthos gave in. "Alright. I'll do it. On one condition."

"What's that?"

Porthos set down his glass and shuffled sideways, sliding a hand round the back of Athos' neck and leaning in to kiss him.

At first Athos went with it, and they kissed each other with a soft intensity that made Porthos shiver. But then Athos abruptly pulled back and stared at him with a conflicted expression.

Porthos winced. “You’ve just remembered I’ve slept with your mum, haven’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Bit weird?”

“Bit, yeah.”

“Too weird?”

“Not sure.” Athos licked his lips cautiously. “You might have to kiss me again. Help me figure it out.”

“I can do that.” 

He did. This time, Athos didn’t pull away, and when they finally broke apart Porthos felt more than a little dazed. “I want you,” he confessed, lips moving against Athos’ cheek, breathing the words onto his skin.

Porthos felt Athos’ hand slide into his own, and moved back enough to look at him properly.

“My flat’s not far,” Athos said tightly. “Grab your coat.”

\--

“Bloody hell, you weren’t kidding about the impulse control, were you?”

Porthos was lying stark naked on Athos’ bed, watching through the door to the en-suite as an equally naked Athos hunted impatiently in his bathroom cabinet for condoms and lube.

“Complaining?” Athos returned triumphant, leaving a scatter of abandoned items on the floor in his wake.

“No.” Porthos wasn’t sure that was entirely true, although he wasn’t stupid enough to say so. Was jumping into bed with the man immediately a good idea? Probably not. Was he going to turn him down? No fucking way.

Voiced or not, Athos sensed a slight reservation and lay down next to him, not quite touching. “Am I going too fast for you?” he asked quietly.

Porthos shook his head. “Why waste time?”

“My thoughts exactly.” Athos tossed him the condoms. “Want to fuck me?”

“I – er – yes?” Porthos managed, and Athos grinned at him.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who gets to the point quite like you do.”

“Speaking of which...” Athos leaned over and ran his hand slowly up Porthos’ cock, which certainly wasn’t displaying any reservations of its own. 

Porthos laughed, and pulled Athos down on top of him. “Come here you.”

They might have sprinted this far, but there was nothing rushed about the sex that followed. They took their time, getting to know each other’s bodies, drawing out the pleasure and the foreplay before indulging in two reciprocal rounds of heated lovemaking that left them sleepy and satisfied. 

“So – can I see you again?” Porthos murmured as they lay there enjoying the afterglow, trying to sound nonchalant in case Athos only saw this as a one night stand.

“I thought you were coming to work for me?” Athos said lightly.

“You know what I mean.”

Athos turned his head on the pillow to look at him. “I’m not very good at relationships,” he warned.

“Then it sounds like you need practice,” Porthos grinned, taking heart from the fact that technically it hadn’t been a no.

Athos was still hesitant. “Are you sure you want me?”

“What do you mean?”

Athos sat up, curling his arms around his knees a little defensively. “You’ve seen me. I can be cruel. I don’t mean to be. I just – that’s not meant to be an excuse, but when you don’t know you’re doing something, it can be a hard habit to break.”

Porthos sat up as well, and put his arm around Athos’ shoulders.

“You know what I noticed? Every time you were rude to me over the weekend you apologised for it. Even after you said you weren’t going to any more.”

“Did I?”

“Guess you didn’t realise you were doing that, either,” Porthos smiled. “I don’t know, maybe there is a streak of cruelty in there somewhere. But I haven’t seen it. All I’ve seen is the kindness you keep trying to hide.”

Athos gave him an uncertain smile, and Porthos held his gaze, willing him to take the chance. “I want you,” he urged quietly. “I _like_ you.”

“Why?” Athos asked, and Porthos grinned.

“God knows.”

Athos started laughing then, and Porthos relaxed. “So?” he prompted. “Will you go out with me?”

“Oh – alright then.” Athos surrendered with a smile. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

Porthos pulled Athos into his arms in delight and kissed him thoroughly. Athos leaned against him afterwards, not pulling away, and they held each other close.

“I tell you what though,” Athos murmured after a while. Porthos looked enquiring, and Athos gave him a wicked smirk. 

“Next Christmas is going to be _really_ fucking awkward."

\--


End file.
